walking across America
on telephone wires will be an important
symbol. Each night, on the living room TV,
a quick shot of him stepping over
Scranton, Youngstown, Toledo, Joliet
(and a bit of the accompanying commentary).
Near the end, Justine will look out
the window and there he’ll be—approaching
her roof—his balancing pole held out
before him like a broken mast. She’ll call
Clarence then—her words streaming
beneath the walker’s feet. She’ll say
something like: Who’ll know if he falls
in Nebraska, or Wyoming—after the news
forgets him? Clarence’s reply: Perhaps two lovers
—like us—talking across the country, will hear
a trembling in their voices,
as the quivering wire upsets the birds—
--Wayne Miller, 2004